L U N A T A L K with Eva Moon

Saturday: the Indian Mother

October 2, 2009 on 8:00 am | | In Food, General Musing

Day 6 of the two-week liver cleanse and I’ve been stalwart, despite the deep cruelty of it (no starch, sugar, grain, legumes, caffeine, salt, CHOCOLATE, dairy, Diet Coke, alcohol or CHOCOLATE). I’ve been strong for nearly a week but today I faced my Waterloo: My dear friend, Latha invited us for her annual Navrathri celebration.

I hope to god Latha isn’t reading this because I lied to her tonight.

Latha was born and raised in Chennai, Tamil Nadu and is an exceptional cook who has treated us many times to the wonderful vegetarian dishes of southern India. I adore every bite, but let me tell you: there is not one single thing allowed on my cleanse at her house. Zip. It’s all colorful, fragrant rice and aromatic lentils and spicy chickpeas and herb-infused yogurt and mystery bits swimming in thick sweet milk. She goes all out for Navrathri, an annual nine-day festival that involves little doll scenes, a shrine full of smiling gods, singing, goodie bags containing a piece of fruit, a plate and several woody root pieces (don’t ask me why), and food. Mass quantities.

When we arrived I realized I’d forgotten to make a note of her apartment number, but I needn’t have worried about finding the right place. I just followed my nose.

I come from a long line of Jewish mothers. I know all about the culture of feeding up the hapless victims who enter your home. But let me tell you, any Jewish mother would have to be at the top of her game to beat an Indian mother. (I mean mother in the nurturing sense, rather than the biological sense.) To feed is to love.

I knew going in that in addition to fighting my own urges to go off the program, I’d have to fight off Latha. I laid my plans carefully.

This is my third Navrathri so I had the skinny I needed to pull off a caper worthy of Ocean’s Eleven. We arrived latish, dove into the crowd and went straight to the shrine room. A circle of be-sari-ed women sat on the floor. Everyone is asked to sing a song in front of the shrine. Doesn’t matter what, but you aren’t getting out of there without singing. The first time we were caught unprepared and ended up singing a college drinking song. This year I sang Mother and Child Reunion. Latha dotted my forehead with vermilion.

I waited and watched for just the right moment to head to the other rooms. It was critical to get through the dining room far enough ahead of Latha to cover a realistic eating window but not so early to tempt my own demons excessively. The party was busy and people were moving from room to room. I kept moving. There were a few close calls. Her husband asked me if I’d eaten. I said I was just heading there now. Various other aunties were alarmed by my empty-handedness. I praised Indian cuisine. I sweated as the minutes ticked by.

After a time (was it long enough?) Latha appeared at my side. “Did you eat?”

“Oh yes!” It wasn’t really a lie. I did eat… Before the party.

“Did you like it?”

“Everything’s fabulous!” I chirped.

“The rice has black sesame seeds. They are so good for your health. Do you want more? There’s plenty. Did you try the dessert? It’s roasted Pakistani vermicelli in sweetened milk I cooked for five hours.”

“Oh thank you, but I’m stuffed.”

“I can send some home with you.” (An offer I have never refused from her.) I finally confessed that I was on a diet and promised to take her up on it next time. She was disappointed but finally relented.

Phew!

And my reward for eating NOTHING? Next morning I had gained a pound.

See more like that one:

• Chopping List
• The Magi had it easy...
• Day 15: Which Way to the Egress?
• Day 13: Juice of Affliction, Chili of Salvation
• Day 11: The Wall